17

Promises

AFTER TEN LONG YEARS of endless fighting, Troy had been destroyed, all the treasure seized and divided, the walls of the city torn down. The city itself was now a smoking ruin.

A huge feast was being prepared near the harbor to celebrate our victory. The scene was chaotic. I hurried toward Agamemnon’s ship, searching for Orestes. I caught a far-off glimpse of him and tried to make my way through the crowds to reach him, eager to be in his arms once more. I called his name, but my voice was drowned out by the shouting and laughter and singing.

One of Father’s heralds intercepted me as I fought my way through the surging crowds. “King Menelaus and Queen Helen desire your presence, Princess Hermione.”

“Tell them I’ll come in a little while,” I said, still trying to keep Orestes in sight.

“I’m ordered to bring you now, Princess.”

Reluctantly, I went with him.

I found my mother and father deep in conversation with Pyrrhus. What could they possibly have to discuss with him? I’d already heard too many reports of his cruel murder of Andromache’s child and his brutal seizure of her as his concubine. I’d never liked Pyrrhus, and the more I saw of him, the less I could bear to be anywhere near him. He was grinning at me now in a way that unsettled me. It was more a leer than a smile.

I acknowledged my father and my mother with a bow. They were holding hands.

“We have excellent news for you, dear Hermione,” Father said. That same little smile played on my mother’s lips. Her eyes were fastened on my father, as though she couldn’t get enough of him. “We have arranged for your marriage to Pyrrhus, son of Achilles.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I felt as though I were suffocating. My legs were weak as water. Pyrrhus reached out to steady me, keeping me from toppling over. I slapped his hand away. He sickened me! I loathed him! How could my parents possibly think to have me marry him? I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell them that it was Orestes I loved, Orestes who loved me, Orestes I wanted to marry. Surely Helen hadn’t forgotten that her own father had pledged us when we were infants!

I fought down the impulse to flee or to cry out or even to protest. Better to say nothing now, I thought; to wait until later and then slip away during the night while everyone was sleeping and search until I found my love. I knew he was searching for me, too!

Pyrrhus stared at me with glittering eyes, his lip curled in a sneer. I stared back at him, expressionless. But he was much stronger than I, even in a staring contest, and I was the first to look away.

 

THE GOLDEN DISC OF the sun slid into the dark sea. Agamemnon, in a triumphant mood, came to our ship to talk with Menelaus. Orestes hadn’t come with his father. I was told that he was busy preparing the ships for the journey back to Greece. Agamemnon was in a hurry. A brisk wind had risen, and he wanted to cut short the celebration and set sail at once.

“It will move us speedily away from here and back to our homeland,” Agamemnon told my father. “We can celebrate when we arrive in Greece.”

Menelaus had other plans. “First, sacrifices must be made to Athena. Then we’ll sail.”

“Athena was more helpful to the Trojans than she was to us,” Agamemnon argued. “She deserves no sacrifices.”

Soon the two brothers were shouting at each other, their faces red with anger, their words full of spite. Agamemnon stormed off.

The night was cloudless, and the shore was bathed in moonlight. I was determined to leave my father’s ship and find Orestes. I had to tell him about Pyrrhus. I needed his help in making my parents understand that I could not marry Achilles’ son. I was about to slip away when a lookout climbed down from the mast and reported sighting the white sails of Agamemnon’s ships in the distance.

Orestes was certainly with them, bound for Mycenae. We’d had no time to speak, to kiss, to renew our promises. Sick at heart, I rushed to find Menelaus and Helen, but they’d withdrawn into Father’s private quarters. I was shut out.

The white sails had disappeared. Orestes was gone.

I spent the night pacing, agonizing. Maybe my mother could help—she knew what love was! She more than anyone! Helen didn’t emerge from Father’s quarters until midmorning, stretching luxuriously. She seemed surprised to find me waiting for her.

“You look awful, Hermione,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well? It’s important to get a good night’s sleep if you want to preserve your looks.” She peered at me closely. “Aren’t you happy to be marrying Pyrrhus? Having the son of our great Achilles as your husband should please you very much. He’s as handsome as Achilles ever was! Your father and I have decided that you should marry him as soon as possible. We’ll have the ceremony right here on the shore, and then you can sail with him, back to Phthia, or wherever those Myrmidons of his live. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Hermione?”

I could hardly believe my mother was speaking to me this way. We hadn’t seen each other in nearly ten years, and I’d gotten along without her all that time. I was now a grown woman, and she was treating me as though I were still a child. And why would my father think a cruel, arrogant man like Pyrrhus would make me a suitable husband?

“No, I wouldn’t like it at all, Mother!” I said, too loudly. “And neither would you! You left your husband to run away with a handsome man who possessed neither heart nor soul, and from what I hear, not much courage, either! Thousands of people have died because of what you did, and now you think you can come back into my life and tell me what to do? You believe you know what’s good for me!” I was shouting, but I couldn’t stop. “You don’t even know me, Queen Helen. You and I are complete strangers. The man I love sailed away from here last night. We plan to marry, as Tyndareus intended! Tyndareus, your father! And now I don’t know if I’ll ever see Orestes again, and you’re forcing me to marry a man I hate!”

I was sobbing, tears spilling down my cheeks, my nose dripping. It was true that I hadn’t slept the night before, my clothes smelled sour, and my hair was a mass of tangles. My mother looked at me with pity. Had she heard a word I’d said?

“Poor Hermione,” she said, shaking her head in distaste. “Too bad you were destined to look like your father, instead of like me.” She turned away, leaving me distraught.